Tulips and Maple Leaves
by hetaliasanguis
Summary: When Meg Williams runs away from her distant, inattentive family, she encounters the chain-smoking Janus van der Meer, who's fleeing some problems of his own. Human!AU, human names used (Meg Canada; Janus Netherlands). Possibly Netherlands x Fem!Canada later. T mainly for language.
1. Chapter 1

She certainly didn't have a plan as she left the house, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder filled with a few necessities: a change of clothes, her toothbrush and hairbrush, her spare pair of glasses, and her teddy bear (even if she was really a little too old for it, she reasoned that she needed the comfort now more than ever). She took the first turn she came to, walked a little ways, and then turned again, thinking as she walked.

She had no idea where she could go, what she could do. She had left the house with a vague idea that she would simply lie low for a few days, giving her family time to notice her absence, miss her, and begin to worry, and then return in a few days to a home newly appreciative of her presence, but that was as far as she'd gotten.

She had no other family in the area and she had left her cell phone at home, with a foggy understanding that it could be used to track her, so she could not even contact anyone to come and pick her up.

She turned again, hugging the duffel bag to her chest. She did not want to stop to take Kumajirou out of her bag, but she could feel his softness inside the bag and that reassured her.

Maybe she would get into all kinds of bad stuff in her life on the run, she thought with some excitement. Maybe she'd have lots of sex and do a lot of drugs and _then_ finally her family would stand up and take notice.

"Wow," they would say, "maybe if we'd paid more attention to Meg she wouldn't have turned out like this."

She could get a tattoo and a nose piercing or something equally rebellious, too.

She liked this plan more and more. She would seduce some tough guy and get him to give her—what was a hard drug? She'd never thought about this much before. Well, maybe alcohol, she decided. That was a safe bet.

She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt, which made her feel more intimidating.

These feelings of anticipation quickly wore off. She was regretting her decision within an hour, but already she had taken so many turns—thinking it would make her harder to follow, which she realized now had been a terrible idea—that she had no idea where she was. Everything looks so much more _frightening_ in the dark, the streetlights throwing ghastly-looking shadows over the black road, the buildings seeming to loom over her.

A passing car made her heart begin to pound and she was suddenly afraid that someone would kidnap her. She hugged the duffel bag closer to her and buried her face in it. Light swelled from another approaching pair of headlights, and she was suddenly aware that it was a police car.

Was running away from home illegal? She had no idea and did not intend to find out the hard way. She ducked into a nearby alley and ran, heading deeper until she saw the lights go by and disappear in the distance. Once they had passed, the alleyway seemed forbiddingly dark.

Still, she could not risk staying so near the road and getting picked up by some crazy kidnapper who saw her alone. She turned and headed deeper into the alleyway, squeezing the duffel bag as tightly as she could now.

She knew she was not much to look at, and this fact, which usually depressed her, she now found reassuring. Nobody would really want to kidnap _her_, would they? Beautiful model-type girls got kidnapped, and cute Shirley Temple types, not scrawny bespectacled girls with weird purple eyes and frizzy blonde hair.

The alley was beginning to scare her. There was trash all over the ground, including what looked like a used needle—ho gets a _shot_ in the middle of a dirty alley way?—and every dumpster she passed seemed likely to be hiding a kidnapper behind it.

The night was beginning to get cold, and it was very dark in the alleyway now; she had now gotten far enough away from the road to get no benefit from the streetlights.

Maybe she could sleep behind one of the dumpsters, she thought. She wished she had thought to bring a blanket with her; her sweatshirt was not providing the necessary warmth.

Her stomach growled. She had not thought to bring any food either, she realized unhappily, and she had no money to buy some either.

Her feet were hurting too much to keep on walking anymore. She was not accustomed to walking so far, and her shoes had given her blisters on both heels. She unzipped the bag, pulled out Kumajirou, then zipped the duffel up again, dropped it on the ground behind a dumpster, and slumped down on top of it in abject misery, pushing her hood back and her glasses up and burying her face in the bear's soft fur.

She sat like this for several long minutes before she pulled herself together and reminded herself that she still needed a plan of action. She could sleep like this for one night, but after that she would have to get someplace better. And she'd need food. Maybe she could get a job, but who would hire a teenaged girl with no proof of who she was or even how old she was? There was probably a law against it.

She was stuck.

"What do we do now, Kumajirou?" she asked aloud, turning the teddy bear around to face her.

His stuffed face stared back at her blankly.

She sighed. "You're no help."

The bear continued to look at her with vapid benevolence. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him again, feeling suddenly protective. A dark, scary alleyway like this was no place for a bear like him.

"Hello?"

She jerked her head up, extending her arms again to look at Kumajirou. "Did you just . . . _talk_?" she asked incredulously.

"Somebody there?"

The voice spoke again—or was it a different voice this time? The noise was definitely not coming from the bear. She got to her feet quickly, pulling the stuffed animal closed to her, and looked around in both directions.

"Hey, who was talking?"

Maybe somebody could help her! she thought abruptly. Thank goodness; maybe she would not have to spend the night behind the dumpster after all. "It was me!" she called joyfully. "I'm here!"

Right away, she heard footsteps, at least two pairs of them, coming towards her in different directions. She hugged Kumajirou again, but with happiness this time. Maybe she'd get food now, and a warm bed!

It was too dark to see very far, but she could make out the outlines of two people approaching from her right. Another one was coming from her left.

They appeared almost simultaneously; three boys, hardly older than herself, wearing dark hoodies. She saw the glint of a knife in the hand of the one on the left.

Her heart sank. Maybe telling them where she is was an even worse idea than leaving home in the first place. All of them are looking at her and Kumajirou intently, with a combination of excitement and confusion on their faces.

"Whoa," one of them said in delight, "I wouldn't've expecting something like _this_."

"What the hell are you doing here?" said another.

She made a small squeak noise and held the bear up in front of her face as if it would protect her. All three of them laughed.

"Who are you?" said the first boy to speak.

"My name is M-Marguerite Williams b-but I just go by M-M-Meg . . ."

They laughed again, although she couldn't see anything funny in that statement. The first boy spoke up again.

"You all by yourself?"

She nodded.

" 'S not safe here, you know. You want protection?"

She looked up with new hope in her eyes, relief flooding through her. They _don't_ mean to hurt her with that knife, then! They just saw her all by herself and were worried about her! She nodded again, smiling a little through the tears that had begun to flow freely when the boys first appeared.

"Got any money?" the third boy asked.

"N-no . . ." Her heart sank again. She can't get their protection after all. "I don't have anything."

"What's in the bag?"

"J-just a change of clothes and my hairbrush and toothbrush . . ."

The first boy, who seemed to be the leader, nodded at the second boy and jerked his head at the bag; the boy nodded back and went to look through it.

She made a small, frightened noise of protest. "L-leave that alone!"

The boy looked up. "She was tellin' the truth, there's nothin' there worth shit."

The first boy smiled at her and she gave him a shaky smile back. Maybe he was still in a good mood and would offer her protection anyway.

"I can think of another way you could pay us," he said.

Her face brightened. "You can?"

All three of them laughed at that. She scowled. "You need to stop laughing at me or tell me what's funny," she informed them grumpily. "Because I don't see anything funny."

The boy ignored the question and took another few steps closer until he was directly in front of her. She backed away, almost involuntarily, and he caught the collar of her hoodie and pulled her back.

"N-no, stop! What are you doing?"

He smirked at her. The other two boys had closed in on her as well and now stood one on either side of her, far too close for comfort. The first boy reached out with his free hand, still holding her collar with the other, and stroked her face lightly.

All of the sudden she understood.

"N-no, leave me alone! I d-don't want your protection if you're going to—"

He grinned and moved his hand from her cheek to her mouth, an attempt to cut off her words. She pulled away, suddenly determined, and bit him on the hand as hard as she could.

He swore loudly, grabbed his now-bloody hand, then drew it back and hit her across the face, sending her glasses skittering to the ground and knocking Kumajirou from her arms. She staggered back a few paces and the other two boys moved in on her to grab her arms.

Panic gave her a sudden surge of energy and she managed, somehow, to stumble around and run, harder and faster than she ever had before, ignoring the blisters on her heels, abandoning Kumajirou in that alleyway all by himself and leaving her duffel bag sitting beside the dumpster. She managed to bend down and grab her glasses as she ran, but could see that they were badly cracked.

She heard them following close behind her and quickened her pace as best she could, her lungs burning already; her head start would not last for long. She could not make it to the street—of that she was certain—but there was a dingy-looking motel up ahead around the corner, and the doors to the rooms were outside, and _if she gets there she can bang on the door of a ground-floor room and maybe someone will let her in._

She reached the motel before they had turned the corner and dashed around the building so they would not see her as soon as they turned as well, then slowed to a jog; her ragged breathing would not let her do much more than that anymore.

She chose a door at random, squinting through her glasses-less fuzz, to see the house number, and knocked as softly as she could, praying that her pursuers would not hear the noise. Already she heard their voices, consulting together, probably deciding how best to split up and look for her.

They did not seem to hear the noise of her knocking, but neither, it seemed, did the room's occupant. She ventured a harder rap on the door, and this time thought she could hear a faint sound from within the room, as if someone were getting up inside. She thought whoever it was had said something, but could not catch the words.

She waited a moment, put her cracked glasses back on her face—they were better than nothing, even if they were now lopsided—and then knocked again, harder this time.

"Hey, over there!"

She froze, heart beginning to race even faster, but it was too late.

The horrible laugh rang out again, followed by a quick order. "She's behind the motel, go and get her!"

She looked down and saw a sliver of light at her feet; there_ was_ someone in the room, and they had turned on the light, and she could not fathom why whoever it was had not opened the door yet.

The boys' voices were coming closer.

If her pursuers had already heard her, she decided in a split second, then there was no point in trying to be quiet anymore. She slammed on the door again with both fists, raising her voice as best as she could. She did not have time to get to another door if this one did not open, but maybe the noise would rouse someone else in time.

Despairing, she raised her voice almost to a scream, the words coming out hoarse; she was still desperately out of breath from running. "Let me in! _Please! Help me!"_

The boys appeared around the corner and saw her, standing by the room door and sobbing.

The door opened just as she collapsed to the ground in a small, despairing heap.


	2. Chapter 2

The attendant, who almost certainly saw no one except for customers looking for a quiet place to shoot up or a private spot to bring a prostitute, had tried to make a little extra off Janus by telling him that they were nearly full, and they only had more expensive double rooms left. Janus, who didn't feel like calling him out on it, had pretended to believe that a piece of shit motel in the worst part of town was really entirely full except for doubles, and said he didn't especially care so long as they didn't charge him more for it, and the attendant hadn't managed to think of a good enough comeback in time so he had caved and given him a double room for the price of a single.

He had not particularly wanted the extra space, but he had thrown his things on the extra bed to get them out of the way. Ordinarily he was exceptionally neat, but he would have felt ridiculous trying to be tidy in a place like this. The room was ugly in every way possible; hell, in ways he hadn't previously thought possible. The walls were a grayish-yellow which was probably once white, and the paint was coming off in flakes. The floor, covered by a dingy brown rug over what looked like concrete, was so dusty that each one of his steps had sent up a cloud, enough to make him cough. The beds had been made, but haphazardly, and he was fairly certain that the sheets had not been changed between guests. The chair in the corner was stained with he didn't even want to think about what, and there was a splotch of something on the peeling wall that looked suspiciously like blood.

He closed and locked the door behind him, pulled off his shirt and discarded it on the extra bed as well, stretched to try and relax his tense muscles, and sat gingerly on the edge of the other mattress, making a mental note to make sure no part of his body touched the sheets if he was planning to sleep there.

He was still too on edge and angry to relax at all. He wanted to punch something, but was fairly certain anything in the room would break if he hit it. Instead, he lit a cigarette to calm himself down. There was a NO SMOKING sign hanging up on the door of the room, but the room—like the hotel attendant, in fact—smelled strongly of cheap marijuana, so he was pretty sure that no one would give him grief for a cigarette.

His fists unclenched slowly as he smoked the cigarette down to nothing, and lit another one, tossing the butt of the first into the trash can with a practiced arm.

_You're being ridiculous_, he told himself savagely. _You're an overreacting fucking idiot_.

He sighed and blew out a mouthful of smoke. Already he missed having his sister around to give him grief for the habit.

The light had dimmed in the room without his noticing; he reached out and turned on the lamp next to the bed. Doing so threw into full view just how filthy the lampshade was, and the light was pale, weak, and sickly-looking, but it was just enough to see what he was doing as he took another cigarette out of the pack and lit it.

_If Bella were here she would be standing in front of him, hands on her hips, scowling._

"_You're going to give yourself lung cancer! How many have you had already? If I can ever find where you keep your cigarettes I swear I'm just going to throw them all away. How would you feel if it was _me_ smoking, Jan?"_

He sighed again, leaned against the headboard, and swung his feet over onto the bed, noticing as he did so that he was still wearing his boots; for some reason he had left them on even when he'd taken his shirt off. He considered taking them off now, but discounted the idea as not being worth the effort of leaning forward and undoing the laces. It's not like they were going to make the bed much dirtier anyway.

Tomorrow he'd _have_ to find a less shitty place to stay.

A noise by the door made him look up quickly; just a quiet tapping, so soft he was not sure if he had really heard it or if his imagination was just playing tricks on him. Not loud enough to be a knock, and nobody knew he was here anyway; if someone was there, it was by accident, and he was not interested in talking to them.

He lifted the cigarette to his lips again, glancing at the clock as he did so. It was 1:12. Nobody he wanted to deal with would be out at that time of night, and certainly not knocking on his door.

The noise came again, louder this time; it was definitely a knock. He scowled, got to his feet, then stopped before he took a step. Who the hell would be knocking on his door at one o'clock in the morning, in this part of town? And why? Either someone was outside hoping to mug him whe n he opened the dor—the thought did not particularly scare him, but he did not want to have to deal with it now—or, more likely, it was a drunken prostitute who'd been called to the motel and had gotten the room wrong in the dark.

"Fuck off!" he yelled at the door.

He sat back down on the bed and put the cigarette back in his mouth. This was the last thing he wanted right now.

He had just put his feet back onto the bed when he heard the knock _again_, more insistent this time. He grunted in exasperation and closed his eyes, and then he heard yelling from outside.

_God damn it_.

He got up, crossed the room, turned on the flickering overhead light, and took the cigarette out of his mouth to press his eye against the peephole.

A skinny teenaged girl was standing there, with wild dirty-blonde hair and wide purplish eyes. Her expression was panicked and she seemed to be bouncing up and down with frightened energy.

If she was a prostitute, he thought, she certainly didn't look like one; she was wearing a baggy red sweatshirt and cracked glasses hung lopsidedly from her ears. She looked more like a crazy hobo.

He jumped back with a curse as the door shook; the girl had banged both of her fists against it and was screaming. The door muffled the sound, but he could still hear, "Let me in! Please! Help me!"

He groaned, pushed back the deadbolt and turned the lock, and opened the door.

The girl collapsed at his feet the moment he pulled it open.

* * *

_**Author's note:**_

_So, as you can tell by now, I'm planning to write this story alternating between their points of view, so there's likely going to be a good bit of variance between chapter length. I hope that isn't annoying._

_Please review if you read the story, and favorite or follow if you enjoyed it! I'd be happy to take any suggestions, and constructive criticism is just as good as compliments (please be nice though!). Feedback is the biggest incentive to keep writing!_


	3. Chapter 3

She was trembling all over, but she raised her tearstained face as the motel door opened at last, bathing her in what seemed like an almost heavenly light from inside.

A tall young man with spiky hair and a scarred forehead stood in front of her, shirtless, wearing tan pants and black boots. He held a smoking cigarette in one hand and looked extremely grumpy.

The boys had been right behind her, and now they skidded to a halt in front of the open door, momentarily taken aback; two of them looked to their leader for further instructions.

He, too, looked confused for a second, and then he seemed to make a split second decision and brandished his switchblade at the man. Meg cringed at the sight and hid her face in her hands, peeking through her fingers. She had thought she would run straight into the motel room the second the door was opened, and explain later why she'd done it, but now she was frozen in place and felt too weak with fear and misery to even move. None of her plans were playing out as she had seen them in her head.

The display of the knife had clearly not had its desired effect, so the boy held it out further and waved it around a little in front of the man's impassive face.

"See this?" he said aggressively. "Yeah, I got a knife, and we'll just be taking her."

He leaned down and grabbed at her hood and she screamed and slapped his hand away, ducking forward on her hands and knees and trying to get past the man into the room, into safety.

The man rolled his eyes, planted a booted foot in front of her to keep her out, then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a switchblade of his own.

The boy's eyes widened and he dropped her hood and fell back a pace, then, glancing back at his companions and seeming to remember that he had an image to keep up, held up his own knife again and stepped hastily back forward.

"Yeah, you think you're so tough with that, pretty boy?" he blustered, a little more weakly than before. "Well, guess what? I'm not afraid to use this and there are three of us, so—"

The man cut him off, his voice cold. "Oh, shut up. I can see from here how blunt that piece of shit you're waving around is, whereas I sharpen this one regularly."

The boy mouthed wordlessly for several seconds, looking rather like a goldfish. The man rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, go away, you're just embarrassing yourself."

The boy reddened, the wind entirely taken out of his sails. His two companions had said nothing during the entire proceedings and, when Meg ventured a look back at them, seemed to be standing awkwardly looking embarrassed and a little scared.

The boy floundered for words for a few seconds and found none; the man waited impatiently, tapping his toe. Meanwhile Meg gave up on trying to get into the room; the man had planted his feet squarely in the doorway, with the obvious intention of preventing her doing so—another eventuality she had not planned for.

"Let's get out of here," one of the boys behind him muttered, and the leader seemed to agree. He rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and strode away with the other two in tow, throwing a spiteful "Fucking asshole!" back over his shoulder at the man in the doorway.

"Pussy," the man yelled back, unfazed; if anything, he sounded maliciously amused.

They did not respond. Meg watched them go; as soon as they thought they were out of sight, all three broke into a run and sprinted away as fast as they had come.

She looked back up at the man. Her plan had completely collapsed up until this point, but she was still fairly confident about what would happen next: the man would take pity on her, invite her inside, take care of her and perhaps even offer to drive her home to safety.

Her confidence was quickly extinguished when she saw his expression.

He was gazing down at her with supreme indifference, then he raised the cigarette in his hand to his lips, clenched his teeth down on it, and tried to nudge her out of his doorway with one foot as he started to close the door.

She gave a small shriek and grabbed at his ankle, and he jerked his foot away and pulled the cigarette from his mouth in an exasperated gesture.

_"What?_ They're gone. Go away. It's past one o'clock and I'd like to sleep."

She stared at him, mouth agape. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to move.

"B-b-but I don't have anywhere to go . . ." she whimpered. Relief had washed over her like a flood when the boys had run away, and now her fear was mounting again, nearing to panic. "I d-don't know what to do . . ."

He shrugged and lifted the cigarette to his lips again, inhaling and then blowing out a cloud of smoke. "I don't really give a damn. Please leave."

She was beginning to feel incredibly awkward huddled on the ground at his feet, but she did not dare to try and stand up in case he closed and locked the door as soon as she was out of the way. "T-they'll just come and attack me again!" she moaned. "W-what if they're waiting for me?" She wiped her running nose on the back of her sleeve. "A-and it's c-cold out here, and d-d-dark . . ."

He sighed, then walked back into the room, stubbed out his cigarette on a plate inside, then returned, crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. She thought the change in posture was meant to be reassuring; at the very least, he was now no longer blocking the door or trying to push her out of it.

She took the opportunity to stand up, albeit a little unsteadily; her knees felt wobbly and weak. He was at least a foot taller than she was and fairly muscular, and she was suddenly aware that he was still holding the switchblade in his hand.

His posture may had changed, but his voice when he spoke again had not softened in the least.

"Well?" he snapped. "What do you want me to do?"

She had thought it would be obvious, but it was suddenly embarrassing to say. She forced the words out, feeling her cheeks redden. "C-can I stay with you for tonight?"

He raised his eyebrows. "No."

"W-w-what?"

"I said no. You can't. This isn't a fucking women's shelter. Get a room of your own if you need a place to stay."

The tears started again. "I don't have any money!" she sobbed. "I-I don't have anything . . . I had a duffel bag with me, and I had to leave it . . ."

The man cut her off irritably, his tone unsympathetic. "Why the hell are you out here at this time of night, anyway?"

She stared at the ground miserably. She wanted Kumajirou.

"If you don't tell me I'm going to lock this door and go to bed." He glanced over his shoulder at the clock, then turned back to her, tapping his wrist to emphasize his point. "It's one thirty, if that clock is right, and I'm _really_ not in the mood to deal with this."

"No, no, please don't!" She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve again; he watched with some distaste. "I-I ran away from home," she admitted. "I wasn't thinking . . ."

He snickered unpleasantly. "Yeah, I'll bet you weren't thinking. You ran away? How'd you end up _here?_"

"I don't know . . . Lots of turns, I guess." She felt defensive, but cast around and could think of nothing to help justify her actions. "I just felt . . . unappreciated, I guess."

"Ah, _well_ _then._ Poor unappreciated you."

She could think of no comeback to this and started crying again, almost hyperventilating now in her fear of being left outside alone again. She had hoped for and even expected sympathy when he had opened the door; after all, she was a crying teenaged girl, it was the middle of the night, she had just been attacked and nearly raped, and she had lost everything she'd brought with her.

She ventured a look up at him again and saw a flicker of guilt pass across his face. He looked down at his hands, seemed to notice for the first time that he was still holding the switchblade, and hastily closed the blade and replaced it in his pocket.

Now would be a good time to ask again, Meg realized, but she could not bring herself to say the words another time. She simply stood there sobbing.

The man seemed to be struggling with himself. He uncrossed his arms, ran a hand through his spiky hair, then threw his head back and said in exasperation without looking at her, _"Fine_, God damn it! You can stay here one fucking night. They gave me a double room anyway. Come inside, but for God's sake stop the crying."

She looked up, almost not daring to hope. He did not meet her eyes. He made a grumbling noise, then turned and walked back into the room, shoving his things off the extra bed onto the floor.

"If you want to stay here then come inside," he called behind him. "I'm not going to invite you again."

He _did_ mean it, Meg realized with delight.

She scrambled into the room after him, then closed the door behind herself and quickly locked it. The room was small and extremely dingy, and it smelled like cigarette smoke, but it never crossed her mind to complain.

Once the door was closed, an awkward silence fell over the room. They both stared at each other for almost a minute, and then she broke the silence in the only way she could think of.

"M-my name's Meg Williams," she volunteered.

He frowned a little in surprise at this, but then shrugged. "Okay." He sat down on one of the beds again and relit the cigarette he had stubbed out on a plate.

She waited for a few seconds, unsure if she was expected to do something, then inquired a little nervously, "So . . . What's your name?"

"Janus van der Meer," he mumbled around the cigarette.

"That's an odd name," said Meg unthinkingly, hoping too late that this would not offend him. He did not seem to mind particularly.

"It's Dutch."

"Oh."

Another awkward silence followed.

"So . . . does that mean you're from the Netherlands?"

He nodded.

"I was born in Canada," Meg offered. "My brother was born here in America, though."

Janus rose to his feet and stubbed out the cigarette again, then walked across the room to where his bag lay thrown on the ground. "You said you lost all your stuff? What'd you have?"

"A change of clothes and my hairbrush and my toothbrush."

He looked incredulous. "That's it? You ran away from home and that's all you brought?"

She felt her eyes grow hot with the threat of tears, but blinked them back furiously. "W-well," she confessed abashedly, "there was my—my bear, too. Kumajirou."

He smirked at this and she reddened. "Aren't you a little old for a stuffed animal? And what kind of name is Kumajirou?"

She looked at the ground. "It's Japanese. It just means white bear."

"Oh." He paused. "Anyway, I guess you need something to sleep in. You can borrow one of my t-shirts if you want. And if you've been walking I assume you want a shower."

She looked up again gratefully and nodded. "Please."

He picked up his bag and pushed a few things aside, then pulled out a white t-shirt and tossed it to her. She had not been expecting this, flailed a little, and nearly dropped it. "That should be long enough," he said. "Go and shower and then go to bed."

"Thank you," Meg whispered.

He did not acknowledge this, only picked up his cigarette again and scowled at the wall.

Meg hugged the t-shirt to herself and hurried into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, started the water, peeled off her clothing—which felt sweaty and dirty—and climbed under the slowly-heating water.

She stood there for a long time, trying to gather her thoughts.

She was in a strange man's hotel room, and he did not want her there, but he had frightened away the boys who had tried to attack her, and he had given her clothes to sleep in and a bed for the night.

She would probably be kicked out in the morning, but for now she had a place to stay where she would be warm and safe.

Maybe she could get him to let her stay for one more day while she tried to figure out what to do next. Or maybe she could call someone, or he could drive her someplace.

She still had no idea who she would call, or where she would want him to drive her. She deplored the thought of crawling back to her family so soon; they'd barely had any time to worry about her. At this point they had probably not even noticed her absence.

It was well past two o'clock in the morning when she finally got out of the shower, dried herself off with one of the poorly-folded towels hanging on the rack, and pulled on Janus's t-shirt, which came about two-thirds of the way down her thighs. She washed her cracked glasses in the sink and tried to bend them back into a slightly more reasonable shape, but with little success. She gave up and put them back on.

Then she slipped out of the bathroom, holding her dirty clothes.

Janus was still shirtless, but he had changed into black pajama pants and taken off his boots. He was reclining on his bed reading a book, and he looked up when he heard the bathroom door open.

"You good?" he asked, his voice a little friendlier than it had been before. She nodded.

"Thank you."

He seemed uncertain how to accept her thanks, but then marked his place in the book by folding the page over and placed it on the nightstand between the two beds. He gestured to the unoccupied mattress. "You should go to bed. I'll turn off the light."

"Thank you," Meg murmured again. She placed her clothes on the floor beside the bed, took off her glasses and set them on the nightstand next to his book, then lay down and pulled the sheets over herself. She felt that she should say something different, something intelligent, an eloquent expression of her gratitude, but she was too tired and emotional and overwhelmed to even think.

She could feel that the sheets were low-quality, and she did not think the bedspread had ever been washed, but nevertheless, the bed was soft and warm and she fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

* * *

_**Author's note:**_

_Finally I get to write them interacting! I have to admit, I'm kind of enjoying the awkwardness there; they're both so uncomfortable right now._

_Please review if you read the story—the feedback is how I'm going to decide if I should keep writing—and favorite or follow if you enjoyed it!_


	4. Chapter 4

The girl was asleep in less than a minute, snoring softly with her hair spread haphazardly across the pillow. Janus had not thought anyone could fall asleep so fast. She slept ungracefully, sprawled across the bed with the covers and his t-shirt all bunched up around her and both her arms wrapped tightly around one pillow—a replacement, he supposed, for the teddy bear she said she'd lost.

He smoked the rest of his cigarette down slowly and watched her sleep, fighting with himself inwardly as he did so. He had no idea what do with her: with this small, scrawny, unwelcome teenaged girl who had suddenly and unexpectedly dropped into his life when he had most wanted to be alone. And now he was not sure how to get rid of her.

Well, getting rid of her was not the problem, after all; the problem was living with himself if he did. He could kick her out the very next morning and never see her again, but he was irritated to discover that the pang of conscience he was feeling at this idea would not let him do so. He would have to make sure she was all right first, and he was not sure how best to go about doing this.

She needed help. That much was certain. She was all alone, she had nothing whatsoever, and she was stupid—well, innocent, he reminded himself, trying to be charitable. She had abandoned everything she'd brought, which was next to nothing anyway. She had one pair of clothes and that was all; she was sleeping in his shirt because she didn't have anything else. If no one had taken her in—if she had left, as he'd initially wanted her to do, she would probably have been raped and could have even been killed. She didn't have anything worth taking, but that didn't mean nobody would try to take advantage of her. She'd probably walk right into a rapist's arms if he smiled at her.

The girl didn't know anything about life. She had probably spent her entire life in a comfortable suburban home with everything she needed within arm's reach, and this was the first time she had ever been on her own without an authority figure to tell her what to do to keep herself safe. And so she was going to seek out somebody else to tell her what to do, even if that's not what she'd originally intended to do.

He stared at the ground, struggling with himself as he tried to figure out what to do.

She'd said she had run away. Family problems. He could understand that, he thought a little uncomfortably. He was not sure if he pitied her—he certainly did not _want _to pity her—but he certainly understood her. And because of that, he doubted she would go home even if he offered to drive her to the doorstep. She would be too proud for that. He understood pride; he could empathize with that. She would want her family to have to go looking for her, or at least to begin missing her before she returned.

He did not particularly want to keep her with him, if she would not go back home, but maybe she had some family in the area, or a friend she could stay with while she waited for her family to become suitably desperate. He decided he would ask her in the morning, as soon as she woke up. If she did, then he could drive her there and be done with her.

She had lost everything she'd brought with her—the few stupid things she'd thought were necessities. He doubted she would need those few things much, but she was young enough and, currently, otherwise bereft enough that she would miss them tremendously. He could go and get the bag for her, he thought reluctantly, if it was still where she had left it. If she had left it tucked out of the way it might very well still be there, and it would be a small thing to do to make her feel much better.

He cast a glance at the clock out of the corner of his eye. It was two-thirty in the morning. He had wanted to leave the shitty motel as soon as possible the next morning, but he resigned himself to the fact that this was unlikely to happen. He had no idea how long the girl was going to sleep and did not intend to wake her before she woke herself up. The thought of having to do so made him feel uncomfortable; he felt awkward enough as it was, with this girl whose name he'd only just learned sleeping in his room and wearing his shirt.

Granted, he had spent nights in motel rooms with girls whose names he now barely remembered several times before, which made the oddly un-sexual nature of this encounter even stranger and more confusing. He knew what to do with a drunk girl at a bar who'd found him attractive and made a move on him; that was easy, almost instinctual. But he had absolutely no idea how to deal with a painfully innocent teenager who'd run away from home and stumbled on him purely by accident and ended up staying over so she wouldn't get raped or stabbed. And he was fairly certain she was equally ignorant of how to deal with him, which made matters worse.

He was not getting anywhere with this tonight, he decided at last, heaving a sigh and stubbing out the butt of the cigarette. He had a plan, anyway, to get rid of her without his conscience bothering him excessively. In the morning he would ask her if she wanted to be taken to a family member or a friend, and then it would all be over: he wouldn't have to deal with her any further, and he could rest secure in the knowledge that she wasn't wandering around alleyways in bad neighborhoods in the middle of the night without so much as a cell phone or anything to eat.

He slipped into bed, pulling the covers over himself; he did not particularly want them touching him, but it could not be helped. He wished now very much that he had the girl's ability to settle into an unfamiliar place and fall asleep instantly; it was a long time before he was able to finally relax and drift off.


End file.
